Procyon Mukherjee Poems

There are no windows in my room
The Steel touches me every time I move
And the air smells of unknowns
That I have got used to
...

Did I ask why
Saddled within, somewhat wasted
Like a footprint absorbed
...

I was filling from coffers to pallets
Spilling them
Like a slur in a legato
That had no rite of passage
...

It pitched and rolled,
The summers of warm water
Deep salty wind, from sandy lands
Teaching a restraint too many
...

The movement with the A Minor
The long and short chords, the Maestro
Searching for the third or the fifth
Augmented or diminished, would eventually
...

Why am I on this grass
as if to remind
why the blue should fill up the pool
so that water loses
...

Even the brightest must move, to the absence of light

That they bemoan, the turbulence of a vision holds;
...

No darkness can be deep
As on the roads, the alleys where children play
The gutters by the side,
Dust settled on them and the stench curbed
...

I am not resting,

Un-perched between listless care
...

I am here in these ruins
Among the steps and wallows of the kings
Where valleys were born out of mocking hills
Tardy winds took sands from the west
...